


Three Months, Six Days, and Five Hours

by OutOfAutumn



Category: South Park
Genre: Campfires are magical, Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Stendy if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 14:58:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16199894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OutOfAutumn/pseuds/OutOfAutumn
Summary: While on a class camping trip, Craig and Tweek discuss a milestone in their relationship.. . . And then they act on it.





	Three Months, Six Days, and Five Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my first fic for this fandom. I wrote this one-shot to illustrate a conversation I imagine must have happened between Tweek and Craig at some point. 
> 
> While writing it, I intended their ages to be canon-compliant. However, there's nothing in the fic that out-and-out says that, so feel free to age them up in your head if you'd like. I guess we could say their ages here are "ambiguous". 
> 
> Enjoy!

“How long have we been dating?” Tweek asked. 

_ Three months, six days, and about five hours.  _ Craig could have said it instantly. Instead he counted to ten in his head, slowly, letting the crickets fill the silence. They were deafening out here in the Colorado wilderness. If he listened hard enough, he could also hear the crackle of the campfire, and the gentle murmur of conversation outside their tent. Most of their classmates hadn't retired to their assigned tents yet. This meant their chaperones hadn’t retired, either, which meant he and Tweek had been able to sneak into one of the tents and steal some alone time. 

“I don’t know,” Craig finally replied. “A couple of months now, I guess.” 

Tweek grunted. “Oh.” A noncommittal sound that revealed nothing. The tent was lit only by the autumnal glow of the campfire, which made it very hard to read Tweek’s expression, despite the fact that they were laying mere inches from each other. ‘Oh’ could mean a lot of things. ‘Oh’ could mean _wow, that long? I’m so happy that it felt like days._

‘Oh’ could also mean  _ Three months? Feels more like three years.  _

Craig managed to restrain this reaction into one question: “Why, what’s up?”

“Do you think . . .” Tweek’s words trailed off, an unusual behavior. He usually spoke so rapidly that Craig had to ask him to repeat himself. “Do you think we’re doing it right?” 

‘It’. Another ambiguous word. Craig suddenly felt very shaky and had to school it from his voice as he asked, “I don’t know. What do you mean?” 

“When we were hiking earlier, I heard Stan talking to Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman. He was talking about-”

“Those guys are assholes, Tweek. Who gives a rat’s ass what they say?” 

Tweek swallowed, audibly. Craig felt a little bad for cutting him off, but  _ really _ . This was a conversation they’d had multiple times. Stan’s gang had never ripped on them for being gay; in fact, they seemed supportive, even if Cartman had a weird way of showing it. But almost every conversation with those guys became a backhanded attempt to get he and Tweek involved in some sort of scheme that usually got everybody in trouble. 

“They weren’t talking about  _ us,  _ Craig,” Tweek said. “Stan was telling them that he went to Wendy’s house last week. He said her parents weren't home and that they . . . kissed.”

Craig blinked, waiting for the rest of it. When it didn't immediately come, he rolled on his side toward Tweek and said, “Yeah? So?” Since when had Tweek given a shit about Stan’s lovecapades? It was such old news by now that nobody gave a shit anymore. 

He still couldn't see Tweek’s face very well, but he could see enough to tell that he was biting his lip. He could also see that one of Tweek’s hands was bunched into the fabric of his pajama top. He wasn't quite pulling on it yet, but that would come soon. It made Craig’s heart sink. These anxious behaviors were rare nowadays. Something awful must have happened. 

“Honey,” Craig said, propping himself up on an elbow. He reached across the narrow space between them and plucked Tweek’s hand from his shirt. He held it in his own. “What's going on? Did he say something to you?”

_ Because if he did, I'm going to go throw his sorry ass into the fire.  _ He knew better than to say that outloud. Over the past three months, he had learned that nothing angered Tweek more than Craig's perception that he needed to be protected. It had led to one of their only real fights.

_ In case you don't remember, _ Tweek had said,  _ I've held my own against  _ you _ in more than one fight.  _

“No, he didn't,” Tweek said. “None of them did. I don't think they even noticed I overheard.”

“Okay,” Craig said. Again, he waited for Tweek to continue. Again, Tweek hesitated, so he said, “So Wendy and Stan kissed. Big whoop. He was probably just lying to impress his asshole friends.”

“Well, they're dating. Isn’t it . . . normal for them to do that kind of thing?”

Craig let the statement hang in the air for a moment. It was punctuated by the muffled sound of their classmates’ laughter from beyond the tent, like a laugh track on an old sitcom. He knew they were laughing at something completely unrelated. But he still felt like the butt of a joke, because as suddenly as a slap, he understood Tweek’s odd mood. 

_ How long have we been dating?  _ Tweek had asked.  _ Do you think we’re doing it right?  _

And he seemed so nervous. Way more nervous than a conversation about Stan’s love habits should provoke. 

“Oh,” Craig said. 

“Oh?” Tweek’s voice was a little shaky.

“Oh,” Craig said again, because he wanted to respond to Tweek but he wasn't quite sure how to do it yet. He rolled onto his back, still holding Tweek’s hand, which was warm and a little sweaty. He listened to the crickets, to the fragments of conversation from outside. None of it helped him come up with a way to respond to . . . this.   


“What I was trying to say was . . . We haven't kissed yet,” Tweek said, unnecessarily. “Aren't we supposed to?” 

Craig looked at the mesh ceiling, dappled by the silhouette of the pine trees that loomed above. His stomach was queasy. 

“I like you a lot,” Tweek said. He was talking faster now, his voice approaching its normal pace. “And I hope you like me a lot, too.”

“I do.” It came out of Craig almost involuntarily, which was a relief, since he appeared to be temporarily lost for words. He was suddenly very grateful for the poor lighting, which must be hiding the violent blush he felt warming his cheeks. 

“So do you think we should try it?” Tweek asked. The hand Craig was holding got a little sweatier. “Kissing?” 

Craig’s heart pounded. He couldn't count how many times he'd laid in bed at night staring at the ceiling, contemplating this very scenario. Contemplating the day he’d get the balls to finally kiss Tweek. Would it be prompted by a gentle conversation like this? Or would it be an abrupt, desperate maneuver to counter one of Tweek’s panic attacks? He could sense Tweek staring at him, but Craig couldn't stop his shuffling thoughts long enough to compile a response. Soon Tweek would probably start thinking he didn’t  _ want  _ to kiss him, that Craig didn’t like him so much after all. 

There was only one thing to do:  _ stop thinking.  _

Craig pulled Tweek’s hand to his lips and planted a fast, but wet, kiss on the back of it. Tweek jerked in suprise, but he didn't pull his hand away. Craig took this as encouragement and kissed the back of his hand three more times, before flipping it over and kissing him on the palm. Tweek let out a high-pitched, nervy giggle. 

“That's not what I meant, Craig!” He tittered. 

“Oh, it isn’t?” Craig asked. He knew that. But teasing him was easier than confronting it. 

“I meant on the . . . lips.” 

Craig hitched himself up on an elbow. He scooted closer, trying to ignore his stomach, which was growing queasier by the second. Puking in Tweek’s face was becoming a real concern. He was beginning to understand why Stan used to lose his lunch every time he tried to be intimate with Wendy. 

Now he was looking down at Tweek, who was lying on his back, looking up at him. His blonde hair, unruly on any day, was tossed and tangled against the pillow. The firelight complimented his light green eyes. He was taking deep, shaky breaths. 

Craig leaned forward and squeezed his eyes shut.  _ Do it,  _ he told himself. _ Do it now, you pussy.  _

Just a few more inches forward. Just a few. Then the anticipation would be over. It would be-

He felt Tweek grab his sleeve. He had just enough time to open his eyes, to think  _ what the fuck?  _ Then Tweek hauled himself up and kissed Craig on the lips. 

It was quick, close- mouthed. A brief, wet pressure. Just like that. It was over. 

Craig blinked at Tweek, who had already fallen back to the pillow. Tweek looked at him, still breathing hard, touching his lips as though to preserve the sensation there. Craig pressed his fingers to his own lips. It felt as though they were buzzing where Tweek’s lips had touched them. His skin felt too hot. The tent was suddenly stifling. 

“You’re very impatient,” Craig said, then winced. What a stupid thing to say. But it felt like he needed to say  _ something. _

“You looked like you needed some help,” Tweek said.

Craig felt the blush return. From this angle, Tweek must have seen it, because he smiled. His smile turned into a laugh as Craig rolled over on top of him, pinning him to the ground with his hands on both of Tweek’s shoulders. It was a pose they adopted often while roughhousing. Usually this pose was the end of something: most commonly a wrestling match or a tickle fight.  


“You call that a kiss?” Craig asked. 

This time, it was easier. It was easier to close his eyes and lean forward, until he could feel the flicker of Tweek’s breath against his face. He pressed his lips against Tweek’s, slowly, firmly, wanting to feel every sensation. Tweek’s body went rigid underneath him. Craig’s instinct was to pull away, thinking Tweek was not comfortable with this slower, more  _ personal  _ kiss. But then he felt Tweek’s shoulder’s relax. He felt his pulse slow down. He felt his lips soften. It was warm, wet, soft. The kiss became something harmonious; as though an intimate thread were being woven between them.

He couldn’t say how long it was before he pulled away. His entire body was shaking, so that he had to try very hard not to collapse on top of Tweek. Tweek’s face was flushed and he looked a little dazed. 

“How did you like it?” Craig asked. He hated the wavering sound of his voice.   


“It . . .” It was Tweek’s turn to blush. “It was nice.” He averted his eyes. 

For a few seconds, he was silent, and all Craig could hear was the banging of his own pulse in his ears.  _ He hated it,  _ he thought. _ I’m an awful kisser. He’s going to-  _

“I’d like to do it again,” Tweek said. 

Before Craig could process those words, Tweek’s hands were in his hair, pulling him down again. 

Laughter sounded again from beyond the tent, but this time it didn’t make Craig feel like the punchline of a joke. Instead it felt like security; because as long as their classmates were outside, laughing, he and Tweek could be inside the tent, kissing. Talking. Just being together.  


There really was no better way to celebrate three months, six days, and about six hours of dating. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So that's that. It's always nice to vomit my headcanons on a page. Hope you liked it!


End file.
